


The Day After Today

by projectml



Series: Project: Bastille Day 2016 [7]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, project bastille day 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:58:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectml/pseuds/projectml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The seventh Bastille AU for Project: Bastille Day 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Adrien has imagined heaven a time or two before. He hasn’t taken time to imagine it _often_ , but the images of soft colors and impossibly green meadows and kind smiles have flitted through his mind when the subject came up, rare as it was. But suddenly, he wonders not what heaven looks like, but what heaven _smells_ like. With the scent currently luring him towards a girl with dark hair carrying a basket of her family’s baked goods, he’s suddenly convinced that heaven must smell like bread.

He tries not to drool as the girl hands him the basket, attempting to commit the warm, light, slightly sweet scent to mind. The urge to uncover the contents and indulge seizes him, so to avoid making a further fool of himself, he wrenches his gaze away from the basket and looks directly into the girl’s big, blue eyes.

They’re quite pretty and distracting, framed by thick black lashes and full of warmth. But they’re also glinting with amusement, and when he focuses on her face he realizes she’s smirking. Silently laughing at him. She releases the basket and steps back as he flushes at being caught, but he manages to stammer out a, “Thank you!” before she nods and turns away.

Once she’s out of sight, he looks down at the basket in his hands and inhales the heavenly scent once again, and he forgets about the girl and her teasing grin for now. He takes the food inside, handing it off to someone who can distribute it around the prison while he returns back to his post.

But when she returns the next day, he’s struck with memories of the day before, and suddenly he feels the need to prove himself to the pretty delivery girl. He puts on his most charming smile and politest “Thank you” as he takes the food, and she responds with a sweet smile, but she’s gone in a moment without any words, and he feels horribly disappointed.

The third day, he makes sure he’s there when she comes to deliver. He has a plan. He’ll compliment the baking, ask her who makes everything, explain that he isn’t a total idiot and was just overcome by the wonderful scent the first time, and then she will respond and smile and they will talk for a few minutes. Easy.

As she approaches he waves at her, smiling and as friendly as ever. He’s going to make her speak today. “Thank you for the delivery,” he starts off, easily. She smiles and hands him the basket, a small smile settling on her lips. And maybe it’s the color in her cheeks or the way the sun settles on her face and reflects in her hair, but suddenly he’s tongue tied. His conversation starters die on his tongue and catch in his throat and all he can do is take the food from her and finally close his mouth, having achieved exactly nothing. She hesitates for a moment and then smiles again and turns to leave.

The daily deliveries become the highlight of his day very quickly. Guarding the Bastille is, more often than not, boring. Previously, the only sources of excitement that made it into the day have been the reports of the unrest spreading through the country, and that is not the kind of excitement he wants in his life. He does his best to ignore it. But the way his heart speeds up when he sees a figure approaching with a basket of baked goods on her hip is not entirely unpleasant, even if he makes a fool of himself every time.

After his initial failures, he determined that he was going to introduce himself, but every time he opens his mouth, his heart crawls up his throat and he has to close it again for fear for his life. The girl always just responds with an airy giggle or a sweet smile, and his eyes are drawn to the ever-present color in her cheeks, but then she’s gone and he has to wait for the next day.

Adrien doesn’t understand. He’s never had so much trouble talking to girls, even if they _were_ bringing him delicious food.

After ten days of teasing looks and sunny smiles, he doesn’t even think of the food anymore. (Well, not as much, at least.) He’s much too consumed by the anticipation of seeing her again, of getting her to smile or laugh again, of maybe, finally, hearing her voice. The desire to hear her speak had grown into a need, but he has yet to overcome his own inability to form coherent thoughts in front of her, much less engage her in a conversation.

He sees her coming and feels the nervous energy immediately entering his limbs, which tense as if he wants to run. Towards her or away, he’s unsure. So he stays still, and waits for her to make it to him.

His eyes sweep over her again, and his hopelessly romantic side calls her the sky. A sky that travels down from the dark midnight in her hair to the blue of a cloudless summer day in her eyes then rounds itself off with starbursts freckling her cheeks and the light of the sun held in the warmth of her smile.

And if she is the sky, it’s no wonder he’s having trouble reaching her, and falling harder every time he tries.

The realization does not help him in talking to her at _all_.

She’s gone before he can even manage to stutter out his customary thanks, and he thinks he might just melt into the ground.

Two days later, having gotten only three and a half words and a few embarrassing squeaks past his lips, he’s given up hope. He’ll work up the nerve to speak to her one day, and maybe she will grace him with her own voice, but that time is not any time soon.

He just hopes his post isn’t changed, because even though he can’t speak to her, he can still see her. And he’s gotten very good at that. He doesn’t want to give it up.

But it’s really not enough, no matter what he tries to tell himself.

Waiting for her two weeks after their initial encounter, Adrien leans against the building and stares down the street she usually comes down, as if watching could make her come faster. She’s usually very timely, and there’s still about ten minutes until she should be showing up, but he’s restless nonetheless.

“Plagg,” he sighs dramatically, looking down at the stray cat curling himself around Adrien’s feet. “I used to be better at girls.” The cat looks up at him, unimpressed. “I was!” he defends.

The cat slinks off to the side, sitting and looking disinterestedly off into space.

Adrien does not take the cat’s boredom as a reason to stop talking. “But she’s- she’s really cute, okay?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know her name but she’s pretty and nice and has a cute laugh and always smells like bread and sometimes she laughs at me and I don’t know why but I actually really like it when she does that and _I don’t even know her name_.”

Plagg meows and runs off.

Adrien sighs, giving up on the cat. He isn’t very supportive, even though Adrien had all but adopted him. If the cat were willing, he would have taken him home already. But their short encounters usually ended with the cat taking whatever food Adrien offered and running off. Sometimes Adrien tried to use him as a sounding board, but the cat was patently unhelpful.

Adrien leans back against the building, returning to staring dreamily down the road while he waits for the delivery girl to arrive.

As she does arrive though, a very familiar cat is winding his way around her ankles.

“Plagg,” he calls out to the cat. The cat ignores him and continues circling the girl, who blinks at him in surprise. “Plagg, you’re underfoot. You’re going to trip her.”

Adrien has always thought there was something weird about this cat, but when the cat closes one eye at him before stopping and stretching directly in front of the girl, he’s suddenly wondering whether cats can actually wink.

He doesn’t have time to think too much about that, of course, because she doesn’t see the cat stopping, and within seconds Adrien has an armful of pretty delivery girl.

A pretty delivery girl who is turning redder by the second as she stares up at him, but he’s frozen, free-falling in the sky of her eyes again. Logic tells him he should let go of her and make sure she’s okay, but logic has been pushed to the side for the softness of her in his arms, for the closest view of the spray of her freckles he’s ever gotten, for the way she’s staring at him, wide-eyed, just as trapped as he is.

But then Plagg sneezes, and the spell is broken.

Adrien pulls back, setting her upright and looking her over to make sure she’s alright. His hand is trailing down her arm, causing her to let out a small whimper and his gaze snaps to hers, the bright red of her cheeks contrasting the blue of her eyes nicely. But then he realizes that he’s being way too handsy for a girl he barely knows, and he snaps his hands back to his side with his own embarrassed noise.

“Sorry!” she squeaks out, and he shakes his head, holding up his hands placatingly.

“No, no. I just- I wanted to make sure you were okay! Are you okay? Plagg is a troublemaker, I’m sorry.”

She nods, glancing down at the cat who is now rubbing against her legs, the picture of innocence. She meets his gaze again, a soft smile gracing her lips. “His name is Plagg?”

“Ah, well. He’s a stray. That’s just what I call him. He really seems to like you, though.”

She giggles, and the sound sets Adrien’s heart racing again. She looks down at Plagg and wiggles her fingers at him. He stands up and bats at her hand. “I think he just wants food.”

Adrien stares at her in awestruck silence for a moment as she plays with Plagg. “Oh- right! Is your basket okay?”

The girl looks back at him once the cat gets bored and wanders away again. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Adrien chuckles before he gestures at the basket. He has no idea how he’s surviving this conversation, but Plagg seems to have broken the ice. He’ll be sure to slip him some cheese later. “Did everything survive the fall?”

She glances down into the basket, pursing her lips as she looks through the goods.

_Cute_.

“I think a couple of things were squashed, but everything else is good,” she finally concludes, smiling up at him again.

“Oh. Good. That’s good.” He pauses, fishing for something else to say. Anything to extend this conversation. “They’re delicious!” he blurts. She grins up at him, holding back a laugh, and all he can do is push forward. “I mean- even flat, they’ll be a big hit, because they’re so good.”

“Thank you,” she says, amusement glinting in her eyes as she hands the basket over. He takes it, deflating slightly, because this is usually where their conversation ends.

But she surprises him when she continues after only a pause. “My father runs the bakery. I’ll be sure to pass along your praise.”

“Please do!” he enthuses. “You probably saw me the first time, right? I think I was drooling!” Adrien mentally smacks himself for bringing up that embarrassment. But then she laughs again, and he decides it was worth it.

“Maybe not _quite_ drooling,” she says teasingly. But then she glances behind her and looks back at him guiltily. “I have to go now, there are other deliveries to be made.”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry. I’ll try to control Plagg next time. Tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. Goodbye!” She turns to go, and Adrien realizes he still doesn’t have her name. He’s scared that if he doesn’t ask now, he’ll never get another chance.

“Oh wait!” he calls. She doesn’t turn around, so he takes a chance, running after her and catching her by the shoulder. She turns to him with surprise evident in her face. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name. I-” Adrien swallows down the embarrassment at having chased her down just for introductions, but it’s too late now. “I’m Adrien.”

She looks up at him through her lashes before she smiles. “My name’s Marinette.” She offers her hand for a handshake.

Something seizes him, he’s really not sure what, but he takes her hand and raises it to his lips, ghosting a kiss over her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to finally know your name.”

She blinks at him a few times before she pulls her hand back, giggling at his antics. But there’s a blush blooming in her cheeks again, and Adrien can’t stop the goofy smile coming over his face. “You too, soldier.” She salutes at him then, and turns to walk away. “See you around.”

He lets her go this time, releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yeah. See you, Marinette.” Saying her name sends a thrill through him, so he repeats it again, just because he can. “Marinette.” His grin widens.

A meow breaks through his thoughts, and he looks down at Plagg, sitting beneath him expectantly. He bends down, scratching the cat behind his ears. “Okay, thank you. You did well.” Plagg meows again, and Adrien rolls his eyes, reaching into the basket and giving Plagg a small treat. “You’re still ungrateful, though.”

* * *

The next day, Adrien is outside and pacing back and forth, not straying too far from where he’s supposed to wait, but unable to quell the nervous energy coursing through his body. He _wants_ to run around and yell, “Her name is Marinette! I’m waiting for the baker’s daughter, Marinette! And I have no idea what to say to her! Help, _I have no idea what to say to her_!” and maybe devolve into nervous and slightly hysterical laughter, but he has an image to maintain, and so he contents himself with pacing.

His legs lock up the moment he sees her approaching, nervous energy fleeing and being replaced with terror. Well, at least she won’t see him pacing around like an idiot. Instead he’ll be standing completely still like an idiot.

She smiles as she gets closer, and Adrien’s limbs move on their own, his hand flying up to wave at her in a tiny, halting movement. He’s mortified at his own inability to be a normal person, but his own lamentations are forgotten the second she opens her mouth.

“Good morning, Adrien.”

He melts.

She’s still too far for him to reach, but her voice carries easily over the open space, and Adrien basks in the feeling of hearing his name in her voice for a moment before he replies, “Good morning, Marinette.”

He can’t help the smile that spreads over his face at finally getting to say her name, and by the knowing look on her face, she doesn’t miss it.

“I hope you’re having a good morning, monsieur.”

“It’s better now that you’re here,” he says before his brain can stop him. She raises one eyebrow, and he stumbles to cover himself. “Because bread! Ahah, oh yes, love that bread. And those baked goods. They really… brighten my morning.”

She stops directly in front of him and hands him the basket, a put out look settling on her features. “And that’s it?”

“…The baker’s daughter might be a small, little, kind of huge factor. Maybe. Just…. A bit.” He can’t meet her eyes as he gives the confession, but he chances a look at her face and she meets his eyes with a warm smile and a happy blush.

“The baker’s daughter is a lucky girl to get the attentions of the cute soldier, then,” she says, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

Adrien wants to explode. “Really?”

“Maybe. Just a bit,” she parrots, and he laughs. His entire body feels light because she’s brilliant and she’s blushing but she’s talking and laughing with him. He’s still falling but she might be right alongside him, and he feels so much better about it with that thought.

A sudden idea bursts into his head, and his smile grows even more. “What’s your parents’ bakery called?”

“The Dupain Boulangerie… Why?”

“No reason.” He tucks the basket against his side and gives her the most innocent smile in his arsenal.

She eyes him for a few moments before sighing and looking behind her. She turns back to him with a hard look in her eyes. “You are being very suspicious, but I don’t have time to investigate this.”

“Have a nice day, Marinette. Tomorrow, then?”

“…Tomorrow.”

Adrien watches her go, his plan already taking form.

* * *

“Good morning!” Adrien calls with a wave to Marinette. She returns with a wave of her own, less exuberant than his. He doesn’t notice in his own excitement.

“Good morning,” she greets him distractedly as she hands the basket of goods over.

Rocking back on his heels, Adrien asks slyly, “Anything interesting happen yesterday?”

Marinette’s expression crumbles, and Adrien panics, his own thoughts being forgotten in a moment in the face of her distress. “I… got into an argument with my parents.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to say to that. He barely knows this girl, and this is obviously something personal, not to mention his own struggles with a relationship with his father.

Still, she doesn’t seem to need any prompting. “My parents refused to help people who vocally declared their intent to work against the king. They got angry and it didn’t end well.”

“Your parents support the king?” Adrien couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Although technically he works for the king, he heavily sympathizes with the revolutionary ideas being thrown around, and finds it surprising when anyone other than the extremely rich and important disagree.

“They… just want to be left out of it. Revolution is violent and messy and they don’t like it. And this group of people just proved their point.” Marinette huffs, kicking the ground lightly. “I disagreed, though. I wanted to help them. I _want_ to help them.”

“And you argued?” Adrien asks. There’s almost awe in his voice, respect for the girl who did what he would never dare to do.

She nods. “My parents mean everything to me, and I hate the violence as much as they do, but it doesn’t scare me. I want to support the causes I believe in. Is that so wrong?”

“I don’t think I can really comment on that.” Adrien’s tone is self-deprecating, but he pairs it with a wry smile to try to lighten the comment.

Marinette laughs, but the sound is sour. “My parents are so scared they barely let me out of the house today. They won’t let me even think of doing anything more. They think I’m just a little girl, and shouldn’t get involved in politics. But I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions.”

“So you’re going to leave home?” Adrien asks hesitantly.

At the question, she crumbles again. Her shoulders slump, her eyes drop, and her lips curl into a frown. Adrien wants no more than to reach out and hold her close. “I can’t leave them. They need me to take care of them, but they think that by keeping me restrained they’re returning the favor.”

“At least you’re not going against what you believe,” he offers as consolation. It was a line that he hoped she never had to cross.

Marinette’s eyes widen when he says this, and Adrien knows he’s been too transparent. He glances around and then back to the blue eyes curiously asking for more, and he can’t say no. “My father wants nothing more than to maintain his status. I… I don’t like the way things are, but I can’t speak up about it around him. I can’t see him disappointed in me. Not again… So instead, I’m _here_.”

His heartbeat is loud in his ears as he confesses this for the first time out loud. He’s kept it inside for so long that it’s terrifying to let those thoughts see the light of day, but telling her, it somehow feels okay. As she nods in understanding, he feels lighter, and he allows himself a small smile. She quietly returns the smile, which only makes his grow wider.

“I’m sorry the situation sucks. For both of us,” she finally says, shaking her head.

“All we can do is our best. Try to stay out of it and keep living our lives.”

Marinette looks dissatisfied for a moment before she finally nods, though it’s reluctant. “I guess.”

She stands there silently stewing in her own thoughts before Adrien remembers his own from this morning. He feels horribly awkward bringing it up, especially after that heavy conversation, but he feels the need to lift the oppressive atmosphere slowly suffocating them. “Do you want to know why I asked about your parent’s bakery yesterday?”

She looks at him carefully for a moment before she accepts the change of subject, nodding slowly.

“I wanted to send flowers. I just didn’t know how terrible the timing would be.”

“Oh! No, I did get those! They were lovely, but I was just so distracted with everything that happened…”

“No problem. I’ll just have to send more.”

A shy smile creeps onto her face. “More?”

“Of course! A gentleman can’t court a lady without flowers.”

“…Court?”

He smiles. “Does the lady object?”

She shakes her head.

He beams. “A spot of color in a dark time, then.”

“Are you talking about yourself or the flowers?”

“Why not both?” he replies with a laugh.

She hits him lightly but she’s smiling, and that’s all he needs. He ignores the tinge of something else in the smile. It’s easier.

“You’ve become my spot of color, in any case, Marinette,” he admits easily. “Can’t we be each other’s oasis?”

His confession makes her smile again, but at the next sentence she frowns just a little bit. “I would like that…” she says, but he hears a but at the end of the sentence. He’s confused for a moment before she shakes it off and smiles at him again, just a little forced. “I should get home before my parents decide to revoke my ability to leave the house completely.”

“Tomorrow, then?” he asks, just a little anxious.

But her expression smooths into a natural smile as she replies, “Of course. Tomorrow.”

* * *

He sends her flowers every day, trying to vary the colors and types to guess her favorites. He catalogues her smiles as she greets him the next day, and tries to sort which ones are happiest, but he usually gets lost in daydreams before he gets too far.

He does notice that her smile is more excited when Plagg is with him, and that is both adorable and slightly annoying.

Plagg curls around her legs as she scratches behind his ears. It was cute as first, but now Adrien feels left out. The delivered goods sit forgotten on the ground, and Adrien tries again to get Marinette’s attention.

“I think Plagg likes you more than he likes me.”

The sentence is met with silence, and he sighs and reaches down to pick up the basket, trying his best not to pout because he is an adult and adults don’t get jealous over cats.

She looks up at this movement, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Adrien laughs playfully. “You’re not the best listener, are you?”

“Not at all,” she returns with a carefully steady voice. “I can’t listen at all, considering I can’t hear.”

Adrien blinks as she gives him a look that’s half scared, half challenging. He’s silent for a few long moments before finally his mouth jumps ahead of his brain. “Wow, that explains a lot actually.”

She bursts into giggles as he slaps a hand over his own mouth, but it doesn’t stop him from rambling, “Was that insensitive? Am I being rude? Do you hate me now?”

She pins him with a stare that carries that power she sometimes lets through, and he shuts up. “M. Agreste, if you change the way you treat me now, I will never forgive you.”

“How could I never have noticed?”

“I can read lips and speak more or less normally, so many people don’t notice, not just you.”

“Yes, but-” Adrien cuts himself off before he finishes that sentence, because it ends with a confession of how much he watches her and thinks about her and how he should have realized with all the attention he gives her. But he’s not going to say that to her, because he doesn’t really want to implode from embarrassment.

“But?”

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it. Let’s change the subject- You should have told me! I would have at least been better about getting your attention when I’m speaking to you.”

Marinette looks at him for a few moments, but she allows the subject change to stick. “Well, you can now.”

“Do you use sign language?”

“Whenever I can, yes.”

Adrien looks thoughtful for a moment, and Marinette waves her hands. “You don’t have to learn it of course, I can read lips just fine!” She blinks as he gives her a surprised look and continues, “N-Not that I was assuming you’d try to do that! I mean, you probably weren’t even thinking about it, but I just wanted to- to get that information out there. Yes. Right. Okay. Would you look at the time? I have to get going. It was nice talking to you, goodbye!”

She turns on her heel and starts to leave, and Adrien is about to call out to her before he remembers his new information. So he grabs her hand instead, and she turns around to look at him with wide eyes and a red face.

“Goodbye, Marinette,” he says once she’s turned around. “I hope you know this doesn’t change anything.”

Her face softens a bit, and she nods. “Tomorrow, right?”

Adrien beams. “Tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

Inside the Bastille, Adrien watches as Marinette looks around with a frown. To him, she seems to be the only thing that refuses to give in to the gloomy lighting. Her eyes are still as bright as ever, only now they’re sharpened by the suspicion lurking in her expression. She slowly walks toward him, taking in the dark stone walls and then finally settling her gaze on him.

“Adrien? Why aren’t you waiting outside like you always used to?” She’s holding the basket hostage, refusing to hand it over until she gets an answer to her question.

Adrien cringes, the vain hope that she just wouldn’t ask petering out. As tensions rose across the country and rioting had started, Marinette’s own restlessness had grown as well. He could tell she was unhappy because of it, and so he did all he could to avoid talking about the situation.

“Things are getting…” he fishes around for a word, trying to explain it gently without freaking her out, “tense around France right now. They just wanted to raise security a little, so standing around in the open was no longer an option.”

She looks more thoughtful than scared, and he wonders just how brave this girl is. Through the past weeks he’s learned quite a lot about the girl and how stubborn she can be, but he doesn’t know how far that stubbornness translates to bravery.

“It’s just a precaution,” he adds quietly. “You’ll just meet me inside instead of outside. Nothing else has to change.”

“The revolution is imminent, and plenty will change,” she says, voice firm. Saying what he won’t. “And I can’t say I’m sorry for it.”

“It’s already starting,” he admits. “But you shouldn’t say that around here. We are soldiers, you know. Which is why this place is dangerous. It could be a target.”

“Hence the precautions.”

“Hence the precautions,” he confirms. He pauses before he continues, “You know… the precautions are for us. But there’s nothing protecting you right now.”

“If you are going to tell me to stop coming, then I will hit you.”

He’s dumbstruck for a moment, but quickly rejoins, “But, Marinette-!”

“No, Adrien,” she cuts him off. “You don’t get to understate the severity of the situation and then try to send me off because it’s too dangerous, within the span of five sentences. I… The violence scares me, but I’m not going to let it disrupt my life.”

“It’s a revolution, Marinette. It disrupts everything.”

“I would fight in it, if it weren’t for my parents. Even if I can’t fight, I’m not scared of it.”

“I…I wish you wouldn’t say that.” Adrien sighs, setting his forehead on her shoulder.

“And why not?” Her voice is sharp, and he quietly picks up his head to look her in the eyes.

“Soldier, remember? We’d be on opposite sides.”

She does take a step back then, pulling herself away from him as if she’d been burned. “Are you serious?”

“I would just be acting under orders.”

“You could ignore them. You could join the revolution.”

“I can’t, Marinette. My father-”

“Is more important than an entire country? Can really control you like that? Is making all of your decisions for you?”

“You know you’re being a hypocrite, right? You just said yourself that your parents are holding you back, too.”

She doesn’t reply to that, but her face scrunches up in a way that betrays her obvious displeasure.

“I want to help. I want to do something to end all the violence and injustice but there’s nothing I can do while under my father’s eye and I doubt anything short of a miracle would let me move without him seeing.” His voice is pleading, but he’s not sure if he’s trying to assuage Marinette or his own guilt.

She responds with a voice forged in bitterness. “It’s a shame magic isn’t real, then.”

“Yes, it is.” The sting in her voice pierces his heart, and he swallows back a wave of sadness. He tries another tactic. “In all of this craziness, seeing you was always a relief. You’re my safe space. My spot of color, remember? We shouldn’t talk about these things. I like not having to think about them when I’m around you.”

Marinette looks like he just slapped her. “Are you just using me- this… _us_ , as a _distraction_?”

“What?” It’s Adrien’s turn to feel the sting of words, almost a physical ache.

“You- Is that what this was? Your way of making yourself blind to the world? Surrounding yourself with flowers and flirting so that you could ignore the problems lying at your feet?” She crosses her arms, looking down before she asks her next question. “Did you even like me, or was I just the easiest girl to access?” She looks back up, an almost challenging glint in her eyes as she waits for his answer.

“Marinette! You know that isn’t true.”

“Do I?”

Adrien feels his mouth hang open, unable to speak.

“I was so happy… but I at least felt guilty at my happiness coming at a time when everything was terrible! I never should have let trivial things distract me from trying to find something I can do to help something worth helping.” She looks away, almost speaking to herself.

Adrien gently lifts her face to look at his. “Maybe in another time we’re the fighters. But can’t we be survivors for now?”

Marinette jerks back. “I don’t want to just _survive_. I feel useless as it is.”

“You’re not-”

She shoves the basket into his hands, and turns on her heel. She doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, and for the first time since the day he learned her name, she doesn’t promise a tomorrow.

* * *

The next day Adrien feels no excitement when delivery time nears. He feels dread and anxiety- if only because he’s expecting a lack of that which he used to look forward to with such anticipation.

He almost gasps aloud when he sees Marinette being ushered into the building, and rushes towards her. “Marinette!”

She holds out the basket without a greeting and without meeting his eye.

“Marinette…?”

She’s still staring off to the side, her lips curled down. She’s not looking at him.

He realizes that for her, it’s the equivalent of plugging her ears.

He feels a heavy weight settle on his chest, and under the strain of that weight, his heart begins to crack. He stares at her for seconds that stretch into moments, vague indications of time that don’t really have a set beginning or end. Just discrete instances with unspecified timeframes.

He wants to scream, anything to break the oppressive silence that settles over them.

She holds the basket out insistently, and he takes it, all while containing the words trying to trip off of the tip of his tongue.

What good would talking, screaming, do, if no one is willing to listen to what you have to say?

He takes the basket, and she leaves.

She didn’t look at him once, but he could see the pain in her eyes.

He wants to be mad, because he knows she was too harsh, both on him and herself. She has _no right_ to just stop talking to him and refuse to even look at him, refuse to even give him a chance to talk to her. They had one argument that was barely an argument. Her actions don’t really make sense, and they’re unfair to him.

But he can’t summon up any anger. All he feels is guilt and sadness and an aching emptiness.

Because no matter how out of line she is, for whatever reason she exploded at him like that, he agrees with her, deep down. Not doing anything feels so wrong, no matter what reasons he comes up with to justify it to himself.

He doesn’t really need a miracle. A magical out would be easiest, but just because it isn’t going to happen doesn’t mean he has to do what he’s chosen. All he needs is an opportunity, and he had refused to look for one.

But it’s too late for him to do anything now. He has a cause he should stand for, _fall_ for, and he’s been too scared to do anything. The wave is rising up and it will break soon, if it hasn’t already, and he’s stuck on the wrong side.

The fact that he’s already decided it’s too late to do anything just feels like another of his justifications for not doing anything, and he’s disgusted with himself.

He asks for his post to be changed the next day. It’s temporary, he tells himself.

He tells himself he wants to talk to Marinette about whatever it is he’s decided, but not until he can solidify his thoughts from guilt at inaction to an actual plan of action.

He tells himself that he doesn’t want to bother her with his presence until he can do something to make thing better.

He tells himself a lot of things, and he pretends not to know that it’s really because seeing her ignore him again might just break him.

* * *

Two days later, a crowd gathers around the Bastille.

Despite everything, Adrien’s first thought is _Marinette_.

No matter how little he wants to think about her, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he tries to stop himself from looking at a clock, he knows the moment she would have entered the building, and so he knows that she is still there when the crowd traps everyone inside.

Representatives of the people are let inside, and he tries to convince himself that she’s out by now.

Negotiations begin, and he tries to convince himself that she’s okay.

A report comes that the crowd is getting restless, and he tries to convince himself that she’s safe at home.

But then he hears that the crowd has moved into the outer courtyard, and there is nothing he can say to himself to stop his feet from moving him to the room he knows she’s still trapped in.

His feet don’t slow until he skids to a stop in front of her, and after one second of seeing her folded into herself in fear and confusion he’s ready to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. But then she looks up at him and her expression lights up, and he forgets everything else.

She throws herself into his arms, and he catches her readily. But he pulls back quickly and grabs her hand, pulling her towards the door.

“Adrien, what’s going on? No one will explain anything to me.”

He turns around, and realizes as he takes in the scared look in her eyes that he can’t explain to her and move at the same time. And he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the crowd turns into a mob.

He has to choose between words and action, and for once, he chooses action.

“We need to get you out of here,” is all he says before he turns around again and pulls her with him.

“Adrien! What’s happening? What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m so sorry, Marinette,” he mumbles, though he know she can’t hear him. He plows ahead instead, only hesitating at the door. Outside is an increasingly angry crowd, and he’s in the uniform of their enemy.

He turns and grabs Marinette by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. “I know this is a mess, but I can’t explain right now. There is a crowd out there, and you need to get through it. I can’t come with you, but they should leave _you_ alone. As soon as you get through them, go home immediately.”

A resounding boom echoes through the courtyard and Adrien hears shouts coming from much too close for comfort. His grip tightens on her shoulders, but it’s too late to hide her somewhere safe. He can only hope that they’ll ignore her.

“But Adrien-”

“I promise you, I will explain everything as soon as I can. We will have a proper talk when we can. But I need you to get out safe first.” He turns her around, opens the door and gently pushes her out of it. She turns her head back to look at him, and he just shakes his head. “And Marinette? I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Me, too. I wanted to say-”

He leans forward and presses his lips to her cheek, and then he’s prodding her forward. He can already hear the sounds of gunshots, and he’s panicking. “Later.”

“Tomorrow?” she asks, almost demanding.

He smiles, though it’s grim. “Tomorrow.”

He watches her stumble forward, away from him, and he can only pray that he can keep his promise. He wants to run after her, to protect her, but he knows that this is her one chance at getting out, before the mob storms inside.

* * *

Marinette turns around, but she only sees a closed door. So she keeps walking, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and questions swirling in her mind. As the fear forces her heart to beat faster, her feet move to match its pace, and soon she’s running.

She dives into the crowd she’s been watching all morning, but now they’re moving, surging with an intensity that she can’t understand. The crowd rolls toward the building, a wave of anger and rancor, and she fights against the current, trying to get out before it swallows her whole.

And then she watches as the wave is stained with red, as a bullet finds its mark in a man’s stomach, and she finally understands what, exactly, is happening.

She’s terrified but she cannot draw attention to herself, so she stifles it, swallowing back her horror to sit heavy in her stomach. She pushes through the crowd, but the crowd- no, the mob- pushes back, and she can’t fight forever. Instead, she tries to push to the edge. She tries to make herself as small as possible, but she can see the confused looks she’s getting from those she pushes past. They don’t understand why she’s here. Her, a small, unarmed woman, caught in the middle of an attack.

Marinette, like everyone else, doesn’t bother to explain.

She finally breaks out of the mass of people, but she’s not out of the courtyard yet. She runs to the far edge, trying to get as far away from the action as she can. People see her, shout instructions at her, but there’s too much stimulation, too many mouths moving, and she hears nothing, reads nothing, understands nothing.

And then she feels the pain blossoming in her leg, and she falls.

The confusion quickly fades with her vision, leaving her with the peace and the cool blackness of unconsciousness.

* * *

Marinette opens her eyes to warmth and familiarity. For a split second, she’s comforted by the warm cocoon of blankets and the safety of her own home. But then she remembers what she left behind her the last time she was awake, and the easy familiarity suddenly feels stale and bitter. She’s safe at home, but the uncertainty of the fates of those who surrounded her what feels like only moments ago makes her feel guilty in her safety.

The room’s brightness turns cold and isolated.

She sits up and immediately the room starts spinning, but she ignores it and throws the blankets onto the floor. As she wakes up more fully, she realizes she’s in her room, in her bed. The room is completely silent, which means her parents are likely in the bakery below. And they might have the answers the questions buzzing around her head.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she tries to stand up. A shooting pain in her right leg sends her toppling back with a cry of pain, and she finally looks down at her leg.

Bandages cover her calf, and when she cautiously prods at the bandages, she discovers with a hiss of pain that she is still very sore there. She remembers the pain in her leg as she ran away from the fighting, and she cautiously wonders if she was looking at a bullet wound.

She really hopes not. Her parents would really never let her out of the house again if she had gotten shot.

But house arrest or no, she’s not going to be bedridden as well. So she struggles to her feet again, leaning heavily on her left side.

“Maman? Papa?” she tries. No answer. “Alright then…” she mutters under her breath, hopping along while holding onto the bed. “This is one of the stupider things I’ve done lately.”

She reaches the end of the bed and stares towards the door that hides the stairway out of the room. She curses quietly and tries to get to the wall, but she ends up putting her right foot down, only to stumble forward with more curses tumbling out of her mouth. She braces herself against the wall with heaving breaths, holding her leg limply at her side.

She realizes now that she shouldn’t be doing this at all, but it’s too late now. She’s already up and about, and it’s easier to edge along the wall than to try and fling herself back at the bed.

It’s a needlessly long, slow, and occasionally painful process, but she eventually hobbles her way into the bakery.

She stops in the doorway, looking into the room and trying to find familiar faces among those standing around while she catches her breath, but a gasp cuts off all conversation and every head in the room turns to look at her.

For a moment, those huddled in front of the store stare at her with unfamiliar faces, and she stares back with a heavy heart. But Sabine has no respect for dramatic tension, and she breaks it immediately.

_Marinette! What are you doing out of bed?_ her mother admonishes as she rushes towards her, hands shaking but forming the signs clearly. She stands in front of her, looking thoughtful for a moment, before Tom stands up and scoops his daughter up with ease. Marinette squeaks at the sudden motion, but it’s over soon enough as he sets her down in a chair in the corner of the room.

_You shouldn’t be out of bed_ , her father signs after he sets her down.

_Didn’t want to be alone_ , she answers with a frown on her face.

Both Tom and Sabine sigh, but they don’t fight her on it.

“Whatever happened to our scared little girl?” Tom asks Sabine with a side look at Marinette. “She used to come crying to her father over everything.”

“Your scared little girl grew up,” she answers quietly.

“And became fearless. And reckless and stubborn, apparently,” Sabine interjects.

“And curious,” Marinette adds on. _I wanted to know what happened after… everything_ , she signs, having no answers. Adrien had promised an explanation, but judging by the light outside, it’s tomorrow, and he isn’t there.

She shelves that thought and brings herself back to the present in time to catch her parents share a significant look and then glance to the strangers loitering by the counter.

One stranger takes it upon himself to step forward, light eyes glinting with curiosity about their conversation but missing half of it. “You have questions?”

Marinette gives her parents a pleading look, and they sigh but disappear into the kitchen. She then turns back to the stranger, a man that doesn’t look much older than herself, and certainly not much bigger. She suspects he may even be shorter than herself. “I do.”

“So do I. I’ll answer yours if you answer mine.” He pushes his bright hair back out of his eyes and tries to smile at her, not wanting to seem too demanding. “Why were you there?”

Marinette colors at the question, but holds her head up high. “I was delivering food. The prison was one of the places on my delivery route.”

He looks unconvinced, but doesn’t push it further. “And from what I just saw, I’m assuming someone in your family is deaf.”

“That would be me.”

He sighs. “That certainly explains why you weren’t listening to anything we said… Your appearance shook several people, you know, and your injury made them angrier.”

“What exactly… happened?”

“You were shot. I suspect a stray bullet that missed its mark, but some were convinced that the soldiers used the chaos as an opportunity to shoot an innocent bystander. You fell and blacked out from the pain.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re not made for fighting,” he observes quietly, and color angrily rises to her cheeks.

“I was unprepared,” she defends just as quietly, but there’s danger in her tone.

“So were we all,” he answers, still calm. “But we took it.” This statement draws a smile on his face, and it somehow makes him look even younger.

“You…”

“We liberated the fortress.”

Marinette goes silent at that. She knows it’s a good thing, and yet she can’t help but worry about-

“Your sweetheart is probably fine,” the not-so-stranger says casually, and Marinette’s eyes widen. He laughs quietly but continues on. “Just a guess. Was I right?”

“What?”

He looks at her carefully for a moment before continuing. “What’s your name?”

“Marinette.” She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

“Marinette,” he starts, voice slightly amused and something else she can’t quite place, “you are a lovely woman. A lovely woman with no real reason to be involved with that prison. Was I wrong to assume you continued your deliveries because of someone? If so, I apologize.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she nods. “There was someone. A soldier. He… He wasn’t-”

The man raises his hands, quietly placating her. “You don’t have to defend him to me. Everyone has their reasons, I’m sure. I was just trying to relieve your distress. I’m not sure they lost any lives, so he’s likely fine, wherever he is right now.”

“Oh,” is the only response she can muster. Wherever he is right now…

Marinette suddenly feels very tired.

“Your parents were kind enough to help a lot of our number after they came looking for you. If you ever need anything else, we will return the favor,” the stranger says, and Marinette just nods numbly. He changes his weight from foot to foot for a moment, and then nods. “I’ll leave you be for now.”

She mumbles her thanks, but he’s already gone, and she’s quickly distracted. She looks out the window, hoping that a certain blond would find his way into her vision, but she sees nothing.

She watches nothing until that nothing is a setting sun, declaring the end of their promised tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Created by adjit and texmexchexmix of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by adjit of Tumblr.
> 
> http://adjit.tumblr.com  
> http://texmexchexmix.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

_Marinette, you’ve spent all day at the window_. Sabine looks down at her daughter with a small frown. _At least find a chair to sit in_. **  
**

 _I have a better view from the floor. I put cushions down, don’t worry maman_ , Marinette signs back.

_That’s not exactly what I’m worried about._

Marinette sighs, but forces a smile up at her mother. _There’s nothing to worry about_.

 _I know who you’re looking for_. Sabine’s expression is soft and understandable, but Marinette still can’t take the accusation hidden in the words.

Marinette’s forced smile crumbles. _I’m not looking for anyone. I’m fine. You wanted me to keep off of my leg, didn’t you?_

 _You’re going to waste away. You can’t keep doing nothing_.

Keeping herself from wincing, Marinette casts her eyes around the room. It was just a few days ago that she got into a fight with Adrien about doing nothing. And less than two days ago when she both lost her chance to apologize and saw him for the last time.

She immediately tries to distract herself from those thoughts, as she’s been doing ever since she woke up. Her eyes land on her basket of sewing supplies and she leans over to grab it, but her leg protests as she puts pressure on it, and she pulls back, her fingertips only having grazed the wicker basket. Sabine picks the basket up and places it in front of her.

_Be more careful, Marinette._

_You were just telling me I shouldn’t sit all day._

_Sitting and wasting away are a little bit different_. Sabine is trying her hardest to put compassion in her body language, but Marinette doesn’t want to deal with it. She drops her eyes to the basket and starts sorting through it.

Sabine takes the hint and makes her exit quietly.  

Marinette sighs, digging through the basket for a moment before she pulls out the small cloth doll she had cast aside before she had even started. It’s just a blank outline of a person.

Holding it up to the colors of the sunset outside the window, she stares at the doll for several long moments. She tucks the doll back into the basket, shoving the basket to the side with a frown.

Her sketchbook topples out with the force of the push, just out of reach. And like with most things just out of reach, Marinette is suddenly seized with a need to have it. Her fingertips don’t even graze the spine as she reaches forward, careful not to put weight on her leg again. Marinette blows out an annoyed puff of air, drumming on the edge of the basket with impatient fingers, and then glances at the basket again with a glint in her eye.

She grabs a knitting needle and prods the edge of the book towards her, letting out a small victorious noise as it slides easily across the floor. She pulls it closer until she can grab it, and then she stares at it for a second with a satisfied smile before she opens it and pages through its contents.

Unfinished sketches and abandoned projects greet her from the pages. Her smile slowly melts as she pages through her book of ideas, of her words and plans and paper and ink. She glances back at the little cloth doll, realizing now that it was a miracle that she had made the body at all. The tiny white form was a blank canvas, but at least it was tangible.

Marinette picks the doll up and holds it to the sunset again. She envisions the doll wrapped in the brilliant red of the sky, and then glances to the sketchbook sitting in her lap. Setting the doll to the side, but not too far away, she turns the sketchbook to a new page.

And then she gets to work.

* * *

She keeps herself busy. She’s finishing what she started, and it feels somehow important. But she knows she’s also trying to find things to keep her mind from straying to green and gold.

It doesn’t quite work.

* * *

“He told me that the king gave in to several demands today, Tikki,” she whispers to the cloth doll, happily settled by the window again, but this time busy with needle and thread. The cloth doll smiles up at her with a new face and brilliant red hair. “I’m thankful that he’s keeping me in the loop, but I think he might be expecting too much from me. The way he looks at me…”

She pauses to cut the thread before continuing her story. “He was the one to guess that I already had someone. So he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Even if Adrien is… Wherever he is.”

The doll neither hears nor reacts to her, yet Marinette has started to become fond of the old doll, and talking to it has become a habit. It can hear her just as well as she can hear it, so somehow it seems to even out in her head. She holds up the fabric that will make up the doll’s dress and nods to herself. With her hands so busy, she can’t sign to it, in any case. “Although I will have you know I am only waiting for him so that I can hit him for breaking his promise. I’ve grown out of the times when I wished for a boy to save me.”

The doll smiles at her with the same smile it has listened to every word with, easily accepting her words. Marinette slowly sets the doll and her sewing to the side, suddenly feeling a heaviness in her chest. She shouldn’t feel so guilty about lying to an inanimate object, but maybe she deserves the guilt for lying to herself.

* * *

She picks the project back up the next day, not wanting to let it idle. “Tikki, did you know that apparently revolutions don’t end in a day? He still had plenty to tell me today. But he seemed to be stressing that most things should be returning to a fragile state of normal. He wasn’t going to say it, but I knew he wanted to talk about Adrien. I told him what I told you, and he dropped the subject.”

She stares into the eyes of the doll for a moment, before steeling herself and saying, “But actually, that’s not quite true.

“I want to apologize to him, too. To Adrien. I’m sure you’d be disappointed in me if you know what I did. I was awful, Tikki.” She pauses as she holds the needle in her mouth so she can adjust the fabric, but continues once she goes back to sewing. “Between you and me, I was just upset at my own inability to do anything. I took it out on him. He…” She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. “He had his reasons for not doing anything, just as I did.” She opens her eyes and gives Tikki a wry look. “That’s hard to say, because I think I still disagree. But I shouldn’t have said what I said to him. I accused him of using me, Tikki. After he had been nothing but sweet to me! I’ll be an old maid in no time if this is how I treat my suitors.”

She laughs lightly at her own joke, but it dies off quickly. She stares at Tikki, and Tikki stares back. “I couldn’t look at him the next day I was so ashamed of what I’d said. I was convinced he hated me. And then he disappeared and… I thought I was right.

“But I can’t make sense of what happened the day the Bastille was attacked. He… he kissed me. And now I’m scared it was a goodbye.” She clutches the doll close to her, willing the tears away but unable to stop talking. “He said tomorrow. He promised tomorrow. But tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow have happened and… he’s not here. I don’t know if he’s hurt or left me behind or if he really does hate me, and I may never know. I can’t stand just not knowing, Tikki. It’s awful.” She holds the doll up, before cradling it like a child. “But what’s almost worse is that I never got to apologize. Isn’t that an awful way to end-”

Her voice cracks, and she falls silent. Tikki smiles comfortingly up at her, and doesn’t comment when teardrops wet her new dress.

* * *

She finishes the doll the next day.

Some part of her was hoping that with the completion of the doll she would finally feel free from the lingering regret and heartache surrounding Adrien’s absence. But she feels it just as strongly as ever.

She still sees him in the flowers by her bedside. She takes care to avoid the streets that lead to the Bastille.

She feels sick to her stomach every time she hears the word tomorrow.

Marinette tries to pretend she’s fine, and sometimes she thinks she is. But then she passes someone with eyes just the wrong shade of green, and she remembers that she isn’t quite.

So she trains herself in self denial. She’s still a terrible liar, but she learns to be more gullible.

* * *

Silently, Marinette knows she’s not okay. She’s not sure that she will be okay. But soon enough she can pretend, and so she moves forward.

She looks at the projects she’s finished while pushing the unfinished away, and she thinks that maybe there’s more she can help come to a close.

* * *

“Good morning, Marinette. This is a little ominous, you calling me out here. Normally I’m the one looking for you.”

Marinette smiles nervously at him, but she glances at her doll in her newly finished outfit, she takes a deep breath. She can do this. “It’s nothing that serious, but… I want to know how I can help.”

“Help?”

“There’s still a lot to do to get where we want. What can I do to help?”

He studies her for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re really incredible.”

Marinette blinks in surprise at that. “What?”

“I thought you wanted nothing more to do with the messy business of revolution. Any sane person would after what you went through.”

“…Well, I don’t think I’m fit to go out on the front lines, but I have plenty to offer.”

He smiles at her. “Of course.” He seems to think for a moment, and then, “How good are you at writing?”

* * *

The answer to that question is, apparently, _Not very._

Marinette has long prided herself on recognizing her strengths with her hard earned confidence, forged in a childhood overcoming rude little girls with more money than manners. But no self confidence can save her from the fact that she is bad at writing. She can string together sentences that make sense, but she can’t make them engaging or persuasive.

She writes anyway.

She knows she’ll never be a big impact. But maybe she can do something. She can get information out, she can deliver the messages she wants to be heard.

Marinette has a new goal, and she heads toward it without looking back.

And then one day, tomorrow finally comes.

Adrien Agreste is dropped back into her life.

* * *

Marinette stares down at the boy she was never sure was coming back. He’s sitting in a heap in front of her back door, rubbing his head and having the gall to look sheepish, of all things, with Plagg sitting off to the side, staring boredly off into space. She came outside to investigate a noise. She did not expect Adrien and a cat.

She’s had time to consider everything she wanted to say to him. She’s had weeks of constructing her perfect apology. And yet when she sees him, all that comes out of her mouth is a low, “You.”

Plagg scampers away.

He looks up at her with wide eyes, and is immediately holding his hands up in surrender. “Marinette, please, I can explain-”

“You said that before! You promised tomorrow! And you. Never. Showed. Up!” With every word, she takes a step towards him, until she’s towering over him.

“Tomorrow is a relative term?” he tries softly, and then she’s crying angry tears, smacking him with blows that do absolutely nothing.

She pushes words out through her tears. “This is th-the _worst_ courtship I’ve ev-ever been through!”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she abruptly collapses down onto him.

Before, it wouldn’t have been a problem. He would have caught her and held her until she calmed down.

Now, he goes toppling over, thrown off balance and unable to right himself. She goes sprawling with him, and ends up dazedly and tearfully looking down at him from on top of him, face still contorted into an angry frown.

“Are you okay?” he asks, but she misses it, because her attention is elsewhere. Slowly, Marinette’s gaze moves down Adrien’s body to behind her. She knows he’s watching, but she can’t help it as her gaze lands on the lower half of his body, and changes from confused… to horrified… to concerned.

“Adrien,” she manages to whisper, “what happened?” She turns back to look at his face, and he’s carefully looking off to the side.

“Ah, well. Like I said… I can explain?”

Marinette slowly rights herself. She then offers her hand to Adrien, who gratefully takes the help.

Carefully, he uses Marinette’s support and his one leg to stand up.

She tries not to stare, but for some reason, her eyes refuse to stray from the spot where Adrien’s left leg used to be. She tucks herself under his arm and he leans on her, and still she stares down and to the right, in a spot where there is nothing, and that nothing is so _wrong_ to her understanding of what should be there.

She feels a tapping on her shoulder, and realizes that he’s been trying to talk to her without her noticing. With great effort, she rips her attention away from the missing three-fourths of his leg and looks back up at his face.

“Can we go inside? I’ll tell you my story if I can sit down.”

“Right. Of course.” She starts to head inside, though she pauses and quietly says, “I’m sorry I hit you when I first saw you.”

Adrien doesn’t move for a few seconds, and then his face splits into a grin. “Mlle Dupain, if you change the way you treat me now, I will never forgive you.”

She stares at him for only a second before she lets out a long-suffering sigh as she makes the connection. “Fine. I’m not sorry I hit you when I first saw you.”

He tightens his arm around her shoulder for a split second, and it feels like a thank you. “We have a lot to talk about.”

* * *

“You were _ashamed_?” Adrien asks incredulously, seated in the front room of the Dupain household. “I thought you hated me!”

Marinette winces, averting her eyes to look at Plagg instead, who is sitting by Adrien’s feet and licking his paw. Feeling the attention, Plagg stands up and walks away, going to investigate Marinette’s sewing basket and forcing her to look back at Adrien. She forces herself to speak. “I did, a little. But I think I hated myself more at the time. I didn’t want to get involved, but at the same time I couldn’t stand being on the sidelines. After that last day… I started to change, though. I’m writing under a penname now.” She swells a little with pride at being able to tell him this.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

“I… spent some time not doing much. I was recuperating.”

“What? Were you hurt?” Adrien leans forward, eyes searching Marinette for any damage at all. She can see the panic in his eyes and places a hand on his, trying to calm him down.

“Just a small leg injury. It’s fine now.” She glances down to Adrien’s left leg again, and feels she has no room to complain about leg wounds. “I think perhaps now is your turn to share.”

Adrien nods, waiting for her to look back up at him before he starts. He takes a deep breath before he speaks, and then he launches into his story. “When I thought you hated me, I wanted to hide from you, because I knew you were right. I spent a lot of time thinking about this. I was a coward. I had every opportunity to do what I wanted to, but I didn’t take them because the action involved consequences. After my mother died… For the longest time, my father was all that I had, and the thought of losing him, of leaving him, terrified me beyond belief.”

He pauses for a moment, and Marinette wants to reach out to him and comfort him, but something tells her that this is not the right moment.

“But then I was trampled during the fighting at the Bastille. My leg was mangled, and… I lost it. I was now an amputee, injured in the service of the king. It’s why I couldn’t get to you. I was kept under constant attention. But my father…”

Marinette gasps quietly, unable to help herself. “Oh, Adrien.”

“No. He- He was _proud_ of me. He gave me more attention than I had ever gotten from him before. He was concerned that I was hurt, and upset that the king was likely to be overthrown, but he was happy with me.”

Marinette tilts her head, not understanding. Adrien isn’t looking at her, staring into the middle distance and trying to process it himself.

“He gave me everything I wanted but I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t proud, I was just disgusted. I wanted to leave and never look back. But I was trapped, surrounded by the care that I thought I wanted, and it made me _sick_.

“So I decided that I was going to do something. Anything. I snuck money to one of our servants, and he took it to help fund recovery efforts. Paying for hospitals, helping rebuild. And slowly he helped me figure out the best way to get out of the house. And once I did, I slowly made my way across the city. I knew no matter what, you deserved at least an explanation. It would have been a lot easier, but someone stole the money I had taken with me and my prosthetic not too far outside my house.”

“You- they stole your leg?”

Adrien shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know why. The interruption at least brought Plagg back to me. He found me helpless on the ground.”

“And then you… you, what, hopped your way here? With a cat at your heels?”

“I relied on strangers to help me. Some were very kind, others left once they realized I had no money. The last man I asked helped me very begrudgingly, and then dumped me on the ground outside your door.”

Marinette stares at him for several long seconds, and then she’s asking incredulously, “You were crippled, and yet you still came to see me.”

“Well, I owed you an explanation. And…” his voice becomes tiny, “I missed you, Marinette.”

Marinette huffs, a tiny exclamation of “This boy!” making it out of her mouth before she finally stands up and makes her way over to him. He looks up at her curiously as she stands in front of him, and immediately makes room for her as she carefully sits herself down on his good leg. He glances around the house guiltily, but when he finds it empty, he looks back at her with a curious stare.

“I am going to either kiss you or slap you right now,” Marinette begins, “and I’m just trying to decide which.”

He stares at her in apprehension, attempting to ready himself for either, but when she leans in and places her lips on his, he’s instantly disarmed, and realizes he could never be ready for this. She cups his cheek in her hand and he reaches back and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and planning never to let go.

She pulls back bright red. “Well,” she starts, and then stops.

“I’m glad that you chose kiss,” Adrien offers.

“The slap is not out of the question yet,” she warns, but her voice is too soft to hold any real threat. Adrien’s responding smile tells her that he knows this. She pushes his face away half-heartedly, and he responds by burying his head in the crook of her neck.

She can feel his smile against her neck, and she relaxes in his embrace. But then his lips are moving against her skin, and she pulls back enough to see his face. “Did you say something?”

His face erupts into a deep blush, and Marinette raises her eyebrows, suddenly a lot more curious.

“Adrien…” she coaxes, but now he’s avoiding her gaze. “This is unfair. You know I couldn’t hear you.”

He looks back at her, and a look of pure determination enters his eyes. “I said, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh.”

He grins at her quiet response and blush, reminiscent of their early interactions. But this time, he’s a lot more bold, taking her hand in his. “Marinette, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

She recovers herself a little, squeezing his hand. “Our lives are going to be hard. Neither of us are… normal.”

He nods. “And we’ll be starting a family in a new era. But I want it more than anything right now.”

“Then yes, of course. I waited for you for weeks. I think I deserve a husband out of this ordeal.”

He fakes a pout. “Is that all I am to you? A prize to be won?”

Marinette’s demeanor snaps to serious at the words reminiscent of her own. “No, no you are not. You’re a lot more than that.”

Adrien smiles gently, trying to ease the tension that he had accidentally caused. “As are you.”

She smiles back at him, tucking her head under his chin and placing her hands against his chest. “I love you, Adrien.”

She doesn’t know what he says in response, but by the way he curls around her and holds her like she’s something precious, she has a pretty good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Created by adjit and texmexchexmix of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by adjit of Tumblr.
> 
> http://adjit.tumblr.com  
> http://texmexchexmix.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> AU Created by adjit and texmexchexmix of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by adjit
> 
> http://adjit.tumblr.com  
> http://texmexchexmix.tumblr.com


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